


Adrift

by whalehuntingboyfriends



Category: Lazer Team (2015)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:24:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8110996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalehuntingboyfriends/pseuds/whalehuntingboyfriends
Summary: When Woody and Hagan start to get closer, Herman feels left out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Wait a minute. Are you jealous?"

Herman’s not quite sure where it starts, but he sure knows where it ends - in the cold, artificial world of the training simulation room, on some fake planet cooked up by DETIA for one of their endless _exercises_ , surrounded by stupid digital aliens closing in around them, and the whole team arguing about their plan, and Woody reaching a hand towards him and babbling something about combining their pieces of the suit for power-

And Herman, spitting in his face, “Why don’t you ask your best fucking friend Hagan instead?”

And the awkward silence after, and even the fake aliens glancing at each other with an _oh shit_ sorta look on their faces, and how Herman might’ve felt embarrassed once but now he’s just _angry_ , feels hot all over, ants on his skin, chest heaving and heart pounding too-fast.

Actually, he thinks maybe he does know where it starts.

It starts twenty years ago when he and Anthony Hagan are fucking inseparable and Herman can’t imagine a world where they’re not. Where his best friend is the first person he tells when he sees something funny, the first person he looks for when he arrives at school, and he’s secure in the knowledge that he’s the most important person in Hagan’s life right now, too. Why would he ever doubt it?

It starts with that ill-fated night out on the field, and a searing pain in his leg, and how he’s so scared and angry and _hurt_ by the prospect of how his life has been ruined overnight that he ignores Hagan’s calls and texts while he’s being carted off to hospital.

All he knows is that Hagan doesn’t come visit in person, and when Herman gets back to school on crutches with a limp that will never go away, the first thing he sees is his best fucking friend with the rest of the team, sitting together and clapping one another on the back, and Hagan turns towards him but won’t meet his eyes, and Herman can’t bring himself to approach. He knows no one knows what to say to him. He isn’t sure what he wants them to say.

He’s young, and furious, and terrified, and he doesn’t consider the other boy’s guilt and shame. What he sees is, _he doesn’t need you - he doesn’t need you_ anymore _-_

Hagan stays friends with all the others.

Herman loses his scholarship and drops out of school.

Things fester.

It also starts here: the beginning of last year, and Herman’s just been to one of the school football games. He doesn’t know why he bothers, when it’s not excitement but pain that shoots through him at the sight of young, athletic, _able_ bodies moving on the field, at the adrenaline and camaraderie and exhilaration that he craves like cigarettes, will never have again.

Maybe he’s a masochist. Maybe he’s just bored.

The weather holds out until the very end of the game, when it starts pouring like fuck. Milford High loses spectacularly, and everyone’s grumpy and annoyed as they trudge out of the stadium. The sight of Hagan miserably directing traffic in a too-tight fluorescent vest with his wet hair plastered over his forehead is the only laugh Herman’s had all night.

He’s headed home, reversing out of the parking lot, when he comes to a screeching halt, nearly running over someone standing in the middle of the road. In the dark and rain Herman nearly didn’t see them.

Naturally, he honks his horn furiously and then leans out the window to shriek at them.

“Hey, watch it, asshole! I already lost my license twice this year! You think it’d be funny to see the disabled guy hobble around town, is that it, huh?”

“Sorry!” a familiar, Southern drawl rings out, far too cheerfully for someone who nearly just became roadkill, and Herman sighs, leaning back into his car.

He knows Woody Johnson. Everyone knows everyone in Milford. The kid’s always hanging awkwardly around, never seeming quite sure what he’s supposed to be doing at any given moment. Herman’s seen him doing odd jobs around town, sweeping streets or being the football team’s waterboy or dressing up as a chicken and handing out coupons outside the local barbeque restaurant. But for the most part, he’s invisible - just blends in, part of Milford that no one really cares about.

After Woody scuttles to the side of the road, Herman huffs and starts to drive away when he glances in his mirror and realises Woody’s just standing there, staring after him, getting wetter and wetter by the minute, like a particularly lanky human-shaped sponge with an uncommonly large nose.

_You should just go home._

He isn’t quite sure why he doesn’t leave, because Herman Mendoza’s never been one to give two fucks about charity cases, not when half the town probably considers _him_ one anyway. But he’s also never been _cruel_ , and even if he can be an asshole at times-

He’s just in a weird mood tonight, after seeing the game, seeing Hagan, thinking about how things used to be. Could’ve been. Can’t be, now. Maybe he doesn’t want to leave someone adrift the same way he was left alone and open to be hurt.

He reverses back near Woody, who trots over to the window and stares in at him, ridiculous mullet dripping huge dollops of water down his face, pooling at the tip of his tremendous nose.

“Hi Mister Mendoza,” he announces. “Did you enjoy the game?”

“It was a shitshow,” Herman replies. “The fuck you doing out here, kid? Go and get out of the rain!”

Woody just blinks at him, still grinning away.

“I’m going to walk home,” he informs Herman, who frowns.

The thing is, he actually knows where Woody lives, mostly because he knows where everyone lives in this tiny shithole of a town, and it’s not close by. Certainly not in this weather and this late at night.

“You’re walking home,” he repeats, incredulously. “You’ll drown on the way!”

Woody laughs, probably at how his voice cracked in the middle. There’s something far too innocent about the look on his face, and it makes something ache uncomfortably in Herman’s chest. He looks around. The car park is mostly empty now.

“None of the team are giving you a ride?” he asks.

“No?” Woody replies, sounding confused.

“What about your parents? They don’t pick you up from these things?”

Woody just shakes his head. Herman sighs. Well, he can’t just fucking leave him standing here, can he? The house is well out of his way, but Woody looks so small and pathetic standing there, and Herman kind of can’t believe the team just left him stranded here. That the coach and everyone else just up and left.

He rubs his hands over his head and makes a split second decision.

“Get in,” he says.

Woody doesn’t even hesitate. He just jogs around the back of the car, nearly slipping on the wet road, and climbs into the passenger seat so fucking trustingly that Herman can only stare at him and think, Jesus fucking Christ. This poor kid. He’s dumb as a brick wall but he’s still sitting here smiling away, even if he’s dripping wet and shivering and has a bruise around his eye where Herman’s pretty sure he got hit with a ball at some point during the game. He doesn’t know why he cares, feels embarrassed that he does, but no one’s around to see this random act of kindness, so he starts driving off.

“You normally walk all the way home after the games?” he asks.

“I walk everywhere!” Woody replies. “It’s good for you!”

“You’re telling this to the guy with the permanent limp,” Herman points out, but Woody doesn’t seem to notice.

“I can’t drive,” he continues, happily, “Except I did bumper cars one time at this fair. That sure was fun. I started a fire.”

Herman rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, well, let’s try to avoid that on a real road. Also,” he adds, side-eying him, “Maybe next time you shouldn’t just climb into some stranger’s car, kid. Gotta be careful.”

“But you’re not a stranger,” Woody replies. “I know you. You’re Herman Mendoza, the Texas Tornado.”

The name makes something tighten in Herman’s chest. He tries not to let it show, forces out a laugh and strained grin.

“Not any fucking more.”

He can’t tell if Woody notices how his voice is tight, the strain that passes across his face. In the distance, thunder rumbles, and the rain gets heavier. Woody’s gazing out the window. He watches lightning streak across the sky with huge eyes, still shivering but with a big, awestruck smile on his face.

There’s something soothing about the rain drumming down on the car roof, rolling in droplets down the windscreen. After a while Herman starts ranting about how badly Milford played, and Woody turns towards him and listens intently, nodding or piping up now and then in agreement. It’s nice to have company on a rainy night. Herman doesn’t know why - he’s never much cared about being alone before. He tells himself it just makes things more interesting when driving.

When he drops Woody off, the house is dark and quiet. There’s no sign of his parents, who Herman presumes he still lives with - not even a light left on outside.

“You got a key?” he asks.

Woody searches all through his clothes. It takes him a good few minutes to finally locate it in one of his pockets, while Herman watches incredulously. Woody seems unfazed, smiling calmly the entire time.

“Ah!” he says. “There they are! Thanks for the ride, Mister Mendoza!”

“Just call me Herman,” Herman replies, and watches him happily jog inside his house, vanishing into the darkness. He pauses for a moment, wondering what the fuck he’s even doing here - but somehow, after feeling so bitter after the game, he feels a bit better about himself now, even if he has to drive an extra twenty minutes to get home.

When he sees Woody around town a few days after that, the kid smiles and waves so cheerfully at him that Herman thinks, _fuck it_. He’s got nothing to do that evening anyway except drink and feel sorry for himself and watch bad reality television, so he pulls over and asks if Woody wants to come help him paint his truck, and Woody agrees happily, seeming delighted even to be asked.

_Free labour_ , Herman tells himself, but knows he doesn’t mean it.

And it’s nice that evening, under the cool autumn sky, drinking beer with the radio turned up loud as they paint. Woody’s work is sloppy and he seems to have very few original thoughts of his own, but he’s so eager to listen to anything Herman tells him, so happy just to have someone talking to him, that he’s pleasant company.

It makes Herman feel less alone, makes him feel like he’s important to _someone_ , at least.

Maybe it’s a bit pathetic. Maybe he doesn’t know which would be more embarrassing - if he’s doing this for Woody, or doing it for himself.

He doesn’t dwell on it.

_Losers have to stick together_ , is all he thinks, and doesn’t let himself wonder if he only feels safe doing this because he thinks Woody’s the one person who wouldn’t ever leave him, mostly because he has no one else.

So that’s the beginning of it.

Now this is the part where everything changes: the suit, and suddenly Woody’s no longer that clueless kid who believes everything everyone tells him anymore, and Herman doesn’t really think about it because he’s a bit distracted by the whole _aliens about to destroy the planet_ thing. It doesn’t feel permanent - doesn’t feel like this will change the rest of their lives. He thinks it will just blow over.

Except it doesn’t.

It doesn’t end after the Worg are dead. Lazer Team become employees of DETIA rather than prisoners, and they’re offered more money than Herman would ever refuse (although to be fair, there’s not much he wouldn’t refuse considering he has no job) but it’s all training exercise after training exercise, and it soon becomes very apparent that their entire lives have changed because of this.

It takes him a while to notice what’s happened with Woody.

Mostly because - let’s be honest - he’s been kind of wrapped up in himself. In suddenly being an international celebrity, in being able to walk normally again - and also in trying to quit smoking, because apparently that’s something you’re not allowed to do in space. Fuck that.

That part has him grumpy and irritable. Maybe that’s why he starts feeling on edge around the others, because their teamwork is still pretty fucking rusty, and that’s the _other_ place where it starts.

The training simulations.

They should be called Shield Team because Hagan has apparently decided that he is in charge. He always did like to do that, take control and boss everyone else around. He’s been a Dad since Herman met him the first day of secondary school, always checking that their friends were drinking enough water and wearing their seatbelts and putting on sunscreen.

Now, he seems to have taken it upon himself to tell all of them what to do out in the field as well.

“Clearly we need to get up on that cliff and attack from there,” he hisses, during one of their early training programs. The simulation has them on some sort of rocky planet covered in scrubland. There are hostile aliens all around them, and they’ve just scraped through a few fights and are now crouched by a steep cliff, hiding. When they’re all touching, the invisibility function of the suit actually works as intended, so they’re all just sort of holding onto various parts of Woody and whispering.

“Nah, just walk invisibly past their camp!” Herman shoots back. “Attack them from behind.”

“Can I shoot something now?” Zach demands. He’s barely listening, keeping watch on the lizard-like aliens who are gathered some distance away from them in a circle, clicking and grunting at each other, probably discussing where the humans might be hiding.

“If we’re up on the cliff,” Herman continues, rather annoyed, “It’ll make it harder for us to attack. On the ground we can all help out, but what the fuck will we do up there? It’ll just be Zach shooting while the rest of us, what, do a fucking dance? Pick a plan that involves all of us, man.”

“I can shoot from up there or down here but I want to shoot something soon!” Zach replies, a little too loudly - Hagan shushes him furiously.

“Be fucking patient, Zach,” he replies.

“Hagan’s right,” Woody pipes up suddenly. “From above we have a better chance of attacking without suffering casualties ourselves. The angle of the cliff will make it hard for them to fire back, and the sun will be behind us, making it difficult for them to see.”

Herman stares at him, feeling rather betrayed. He only feels worse when Hagan smiles and squeezes Woody’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Woody,” he says smugly.

“Oh yes, thank you, Woody,” Herman mocks, “And what are you and I gonna do, stand around with our thumbs up our asses?”

“I can help Zach to aim,” Woody replies, “And Hagan can block any retaliating fire. It would be risky for you to be alone on ground level causing a distraction, so I suppose your piece of the suit wouldn’t be required for this part of the mission.”

The words make Herman’s chest clench. It hurts, especially how matter-of-factly Woody says it. Then again, he says a lot of things like that nowadays, in that unfamiliar accent - sometimes he seems like a completely different person.

“Wow, okay,” Herman replies. “Fine then!”

He throws his hands up indignantly. This, of course, breaks the connection between the pieces of the suit, and he becomes visible again - the movement has the aliens nearby turning towards them, and they raise their guns and start firing immediately.

“Oh, thanks Herman! Great fucking work! Now we have no plan at all!” Hagan shrieks, as he dives in front of Woody and activates the shield, laser bolts ricocheting off its surface. Herman’s already leaping out of the way. He dashes towards the aliens, so fast that they can’t hit him, and starts hitting them and knocking them over. When he pauses and looks back at the others, Woody’s crouched behind Hagan and Zach, a hand on each of their backs, helping them magnify their pieces of the suit.

Everyone over there together - and himself here, alone, stumbling to a halt.

Well isn’t this fucking familiar?

They take out the rest of the aliens quickly, but the simulation’s already flickering away. Emory’s probably about to come and give them a telling off for stuffing up the mission. As the terrain around them fades back to the empty simulation room, he sees Hagan lean in and murmur something to Woody, who just shakes his head.

_They’re talking about you,_ a voice in the back of his head says, and he bites his lip, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable.

Of course, his immediate reaction is to muster up anger to cover it all.

“Wow, man,” he says to Woody later that night in the mess hall. “I thought you’d be on my side in there. Thanks for backing me up. _Not_.”

Woody blinks at him.

“It wasn’t the smartest option,” he replies, calmly. God, Herman can’t stand his fucking voice nowadays, that stupid British accent, how he states facts like anyone _cares_.

“Of course,” he snaps. “You’re all about that now, aren’t you? Too smart for all the things we used to do together. Too smart to be loyal.”

“Herman?” Woody asks, sounding uncertain and a bit confused, but Herman’s already getting up and striding out.

God, he wants a smoke.

He’s shaky and irritable from the nicotine withdrawal, but there are no cigarettes on-base and he’s not bothered to drive out to town. Instead he finds himself pacing around the training yard in the dark and cold until he’s too exhausted to feel anything much.

He doesn’t know why he’s so worked up about this. Who cares about the stupid kid anyway?

(But he does, of course, maybe too much, maybe he didn’t realise how much until now-)

And the thing is, it’s not just Woody.

It’s Hagan, too, because they made up - kind of - after working together against the Worg. And in the back of his head Herman had vaguely figured that maybe they’d stick together at the base, since Zach and Woody are so much younger - almost thought ( _hoped)_ they’d rekindle their friendship, even if he’d never fucking admit it, even to himself.

But the next time he walks into the break room, Hagan’s sitting with Woody looking at something on the screen of one of their data pads - footage of one of the simulations they did today - discussing it together, pointing out improvements they should make, and Herman walks right the fuck back out because fuck that, he’s not about to be the awkward third wheel to the two people he used to think were his friends.

After that, he can’t stop noticing it.

If Hagan has an idea for some new battle strategy or training exercise, it’s Woody he goes to to talk it over with first.

After an exhausting day of training, he’ll see Hagan bringing Woody a cup of tea (he finally managed to remove the visor of the helmet), or Woody helping Hagan wrap his knee after a particularly gruelling exercise.

When they get a weekend off and go back to town it’s Hagan’s car that Woody gets into. That sends a pang through Herman, as he thinks back on how they first started hanging out.

It really feels like he’s just… not needed, anymore.

Maybe he’s been sullen, lurking in the background, snapping at anyone who tries to talk to him - who cares, anyway?

Maybe he blows off Woody when the other man tries to approach him a few nights, saying he’s tired and wants to be left alone - but Woody makes no effort to keep pushing, just backs off right away.

Maybe Hagan tries to talk to him a few times too, but Herman doesn’t want to be around him. He’s irritated just at the sight of Hagan’s big dumb face.

Apparently they’re both too smart for him now. Well fuck that, he doesn’t need them. He takes care of himself, always has.

Time was, he took care of Woody too, but now it’s Hagan who the other man turns to when he needs someone to help him with the straps of his bulletproof vest, Hagan he turns to to approve some strategy, Hagan who takes him home on their weekends off.

Apparently, this is how it always turns out. People move on and don’t need him anymore.

He was stupid to ever think otherwise.

 

* * *

 

“Why don’t you ask your best fucking friend Hagan instead?”

So. Here they are now. Things have come to a boiling point, and Herman’s not even sure why. Everything’s been building up and he’s just sick of all this.

Sick of feeling alone.

Sick of _caring_ \- because he shouldn’t, he tells himself furiously, he should be focused on himself and the money he’s making and how he’s starting to feel fitter and healthier and by all accounts, things should be just dandy.

But they’re not. He’s _alone_ , and left out even in what’s meant to be his own team. So they stand, chests heaving, staring at each other. Woody’s eyes are huge, and for a moment he doesn’t look different anymore, doesn’t look like someone who Herman barely recognises. He just looks like that clueless boy again, who doesn’t understand what’s going on.

Herman stares back at him. He doesn’t know what might be showing on his face.

Then he turns and stalks off, shoving right past the aliens, in what he hopes is the direction of the door to the simulation room. The landscape’s already slowly disappearing around him as DETIA realise something’s going on here and begin to turn it off.

“What’s with him?” he hears Zach ask loudly behind him.

Herman grits his teeth, but no one answers. After a moment, he hears running footsteps behind him as someone gives chase.

“Herman,” Hagan’s voice calls out.

“Save it, Hagan.”

“Herman!” A hand closes around his arm, spinning him around, and suddenly Hagan’s right in his face. There’s a little furrow between his brows, and Herman _sees_ him trying to figure this out. Sees the moment he comes up with it. “Wait a minute - are you _jealous_?”

Herman scowls, feeling immediately embarrassed and defensive. But Hagan’s staring down at him, eyes soft in concern, his hand still on Herman’s arm. He doesn’t look like he’s laughing. He looks like he cares.

“Why the hell would I be jealous?” Herman forces out.

“I don’t know,” Hagan replies. “But what you just said…”

He trails off. The simulation has faded away and they’re in an empty room now. But there are too many eyes on them, DETIA officers watching through the big window that overlooks the room, and Hagan seems to notice that they have an audience. There’s something protective about the way his hand shifts from Herman’s arm to resting on his shoulder, starting to steer him towards the door. Herman doesn’t know why he lets him. He doesn’t need his _help_. But still - there’s something reassuring to how he takes control, like he’ll handle everything, like it will all be fine.  
  
“Time out,” Hagan informs the people watching them, and tugs at Herman’s shoulder. “Come on. We’re done here.”

He leads him out of the room. Herman notices Woody and Zach linger back behind, but doesn’t have much time to think about it as Hagan steers him back through the corridors of the base to their rooms. As soon as they’re alone again, he seems to get his senses back, and roughly shakes Hagan away.

“Hands off, man,” he snaps.

“Sorry,” Hagan replies, automatically. Herman glares at him, shoulders hunched up protectively. He feels uncomfortably vulnerable, like he’s revealed too much. Uncomfortably _weak_. But Hagan is still eying him with concern, and his voice is very soft as he continues, “Look, what’s going on with you? Lately you’ve been… distant.”

“Was I ever not?” Herman replies, coldly, but Hagan shakes his head.

“Not like this,” he replies. “Look, even Zach and I have put aside our differences. I thought we were working together here, or trying to. Woody’s noticed, too - how you’re pushing him away.”

A pang shoots through Herman’s chest.

“He doesn’t need me,” he says.

“What makes you think that?”

Herman huffs.

“The kid’s smart now,” he mutters. “He can take care of himself. Besides, seems like you two are all buddy-buddy now.”

Hagan’s face softens. He takes a step back and sits down on the nearest cot. Herman folds his arms, refusing to sit too, but Hagan’s staring off into the distance, seeming preoccupied with his own thoughts. It makes Herman feel less targeted, and after a moment his own shoulders relax a little.

“You know,” Hagan says finally, still distant and thoughtful, “I was always curious about how you two started hanging out. I noticed you guys went around together, of course people did - it seemed strange to me. I never knew how you met or anything. And even when I was annoyed with you, I… I thought that was kind. That you took care of him, paid attention to him, when no one else did.”

“I got something out of it too,” Herman murmurs, feeling slightly uncomfortable at being painted as some sort of hero or saviour, because if he’s honest, Woody did as much for him as he did for the other man, though he’d probably never admit it to anyone.

“Of course,” Hagan replies. “But still. I’m just saying, he cares about you a lot.”

“Well now he cares about you,” Herman says, and Hagan shakes his head.

“You _are_ jealous.” _Now_ there’s amusement in it, and just a tinge of chastisement. But Herman’s tired, too tired to keep being angry. He sinks down to sit on the bed beside Hagan, and shrugs.

“Why wouldn’t I be,” he replies, flatly. “Just something else you took from me.”

“He’s not something that someone can _take_ ,” Hagan chides, but sighs. “Look. I get it, I can see why you’d see things like that. Woody and I have gotten closer. But that’s not how it is. It’s… it’s been hard for me here, actually, adjusting to all _this_. Saving the world, fighting fucking aliens, it all happened so suddenly. Being in the _military_ now - it’s a big switch. And I miss Mindy, I miss being a Dad, I miss _home._ So having someone familiar, someone to take care of… it felt nice.”

Herman listens in silence. There’s something unexpectedly vulnerable in Hagan’s voice, and he realises that he doesn’t like to see the other man upset.

Hagan swallows, and looks up.

“This helmet thing has been a big change for him,” he continues. “He’s figuring himself out in a lot of ways. I think having someone who was close to him before all this to help him through it would do far more for him than I can.”

Herman nods, looking away. He can’t help but jump a little when Hagan’s hand is suddenly on his shoulder again.

“He’s been worried about you,” Hagan says. “We all have. This team needs all of us - we couldn’t do it without you. We wouldn’t _want_ to.”

He squeezes Herman’s shoulder, and Herman manages a small smile, feeling reluctantly warmed by the words.

“Besides,” Hagan adds then - and there’s a hesitant note in his voice now - “It’s not him who’s my best friend.”

Herman stares at him. Hagan looks nervous, almost shy, and after a moment Herman huffs out a laugh. The words do mean a lot to him, more than he can say - seem to restore all his hopes from earlier.

Hagan laughs too, relieved, and claps him on the back. His jealousy seems silly now, but Hagan’s not laughing _at_ him, and he realises how much he’s missed feeling close, missed seeing the other man care about him.

“Well I feel like I made a real fool of myself now,” he murmurs.

“Of course not,” Hagan assures him. “But you should go talk to him.”

Herman nods. They exchange a small smile.

On his way out of the room, he passes Zach, sitting in the mess hall. The boy shoots him a concerned look, but when Herman forces a grin, Zach smiles back. He seems genuinely relieved to see that he’s okay, and it makes Herman feel all warm again, especially since he knows Zach can be just as self-absorbed as he himself is sometimes.

Woody’s sitting alone on a bench out in the training yards. He’s staring into space, lost in thought - so lost that when Herman sits next to him, he jumps.

“Herman!” he says. He sounds panicked and apologetic, and Herman holds up a hand to stop him before he can say another word.

“Save it, kid,” he says. “Don’t you start apologising or anything. I was being a damn idiot, making a big fuss over nothing. Things have just... changed. A lot.”

Woody shoots him a funny sort of vulnerable look before staring down at his hands, twisting nervously in his lap.

“Tell me about it,” he agrees, and Herman thinks of what Hagan told him - about how if this whole change to super-genius-Woody has been weird for him, it must be even weirder for _Woody_.

“It’s still you though,” he says, gruffly. “Under that weird space helmet and the pretentious accent.”

Woody’s lips twitch.

“Still me,” he agrees. “Just… figuring out what that means. What _this_ means,” he says, and gestures at the suit and the training fields and DETIA, their new lives now, “For everything.”

There’s a pause as they both take it in. There’s something bittersweet to their circumstances, Herman can’t help thinking; his life is better now, but in some ways he misses the simplicity of how things used to be, without the pressure of saving the whole world. Still, he wouldn’t go back, he realises. He likes the mobility the boots gives him. He likes having Hagan’s friendship again - having _all_ of them.

“I don’t think I’m smarter than you now, Herman,” Woody says, abruptly. “Not… not like that.”

“I know, kid,” Herman assures him. “I was just being an idiot.”

He bumps their shoulders together, a rare show of affection considering they’ve never been that tactile. Woody gives a little smile - shyer than those big, goofy grins he used to give, but somehow just as sincere. He leans against Herman’s side, and for once Herman doesn’t shove him off.

“Want to go set off fireworks near the lake?” he asks instead, and Woody nods enthusiastically. _There’s_ that giant grin now, and Herman gets up, tugging him to his feet as well.

He needs to learn to trust the others more. He knows that. It’s hard, after everything. But he thinks he can see, now, that everyone else here is just as unsure, trying to figure themselves out too. He doesn’t need to resent any of them for that. Losers have to stick together, after all - but he thinks it fondly, not with his usual self-deprecation. Apparently, that’s what a team’s all about, and this time, he’s starting to let himself believe that they’ve all got each other’s backs here.

**Author's Note:**

> [Join me writing Lazer Team fics each week! <3](http://whalehuntingboyfriends.tumblr.com/post/149931537439/lazer-team-weekly-prompt-challenge)


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